


The Gentleman's Guide To Sex and Spirituality

by cesarioviola



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: 18th Century, Alchemy, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1700s, Epilepsy, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV First Person, Road Trips, and shes an ace lesbian omg, cowards, ernst is percy!!, filipino ernst!, hanschen is monty obvi, hanschens pov, ilse is felicity, its the hernst gentlemans guide to vice and virute au weve been waiting for!!!, melchi and moritz are helene and dante respectively, muslim wendla!!!!!, wendla is scipio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesarioviola/pseuds/cesarioviola
Summary: It's the 1720's in Europe, and Hanschen Rilow is so ready to spend a year with his best friend, Ernst Robel. Of course, he's a bit less excited about his sister Ilse coming with them. But, he's loved Ernst for a while, and he is going to make the most of this year-long roadtrip. Even if that means putting up with Ilse, bitter alchemists, a band of highwaymen, and a lesbian pirate.Fun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hmu at tumblr on cesarioviola.tumblr.com !!!!!!!

When I awaken on the day I am to embark on our trip, Ernst is laying suspiciously close in my bed, and his hair is a disaster. I am not sure if we have slept together, or just simply slept in the same bed, something we have done many times.

However, Ernst is still fully clothed. His clothing is not exactly clean though- he certainly looks like he may have slept with someone. But if it was with me, he would not still be wearing his shirt. Or his trousers. Or anything, if I must tell the truth. The sheets and covers are horrendous, but there's no sign of sex, no scent, no spots. And though I find myself wearing nothing but my waistcoat- backwards, might I add, -and a single shoe, I assume we must have kept to ourselves. Sadly, as I would truly love to see what Ernst would look like, all ruffled up and moaning.

But it is an odd relief as well. Should Ernst and I ever finally get together, (a prospect that is starting to seem terribly unrealistic) I would much prefer for us both to be sober. I never thought I would think I may like to be sober during a hook-up. Of course, were I to sleep with Ernst, I would really much prefer us not to just be a hook-up.

Ernst rolls over and smacks me directly in the face with a theatrical groan of displeasure. His face- that gorgeous face -settles into the crook of my neck as he pulls the entirety of the blanket onto himself. He stinks of cigar smoke and alcohol, but I must be worse, judging by the taste of perfume and gin on my tongue. 

From the window, someone snaps the drapes back, and I nearly scream at the attack the sunlight is inflicting upon me, scrambling to cover my face. Ernst flails awake and downright caws, as if he were a bird. He attempts to roll over, rolls into me, continues his path, and ends up on top of me. Though at any other time, I'd love seeing Ernst on top of me, it is not the best situation at the moment. I believe we must have drank gallons last night, as it's hanging over me quite, quite heavily. It saddens me, as I was feeling quite proud of myself for my ability of getting drunker than should be possible, and then be the perfect gentleman the next afternoon.

And then I realize why I am still drunk, and utterly disastrous- it is not the afternoon, when I believe should be the time we are supposed to awaken. It is early morning! For a second, I cannot gather why. Then, I remember. Ernst and I leave for our tour of the continent today. My heart skips a beat. A year with Ernst, a year with Ernst. A year with Ernst-

"Good morning, my lords," Herr Sonnenstitch speaks smugly from the window. All I can make out is his silhouette from the glass, as he is still subjecting us to the fucking sunlight. Were I not a holy man, I would get up and punch him. "Lord Hanschen," he continues, nodding towards my direction, "your mother sent me to wake you and Ernst. Your carriage is scheduled to leave in an hour or such, and Herr Robel and his wife are taking tea in the dining room." 

From somewhere near my stomach, Ernst makes a forced noise of acknowledgement to his aunt and uncles presence- it resembles nearer to an animals language than a humans. 

"And, your father has arrived from London last night, my lord," Herr Sonnenstitch adds to me. "He says he wishes to see you before your departure for your trip. I assume you've remembered the trip of the continent." (Dear Lord, that comment makes me want to wrap my hands around his neck- and not in the way I sometimes wish to do to Ernst.)

Neither Ernst nor I make any movement. The shoe clinging to my foot surrenders, hitting the ground with a hollow thump of wood to the carpet. 

"Should I give you both a moment to recover your senses?" Herr Sonnenstitch asks.

"Yes!" Ernst and I nearly yell in unison.

Herr Sonnenstitch finally leaves- I can hear him latch the door behind himself. Outside the window, where sunlight is still beating down upon us, I can hear the wheels of the carriage crackling against the gravel drive, the neighs of the horses, and the calls of the grooms trying to drive the horses forward. And then Ernst lets out an over-dramatic moan, and I laugh at him. He takes a swipe at me, and he misses, and thank god he does. His punches can hurt a man at times.

"You sound like a bear."

"You smell like the floor of a cheap brothel," he slides off the bed, tangles in the sheets, and ends up doing what looks like a bent-waist headstand with his cheek pressed up against the carpeting. The heel of his foot rams against me in the stomach, far too low for comfort, and my laugh turns to a grunt.

"Steady on there, my darling." I drag myself up with one hand on the hangings, and a few of the stays pop. No problem to me- at least, not for another year. Trying to find the rest of my clothing may end in my demise, so I make no attempt to. I turn back, and Ernst is still resting on the floor, upside down with his feet propped on the bed. His hair has come undone from its ribboned queue, and it edges his face like a wild, black storm cloud. I pour myself a glass of sherry from the decanter on the sideboard, and proceed to down it in a couple of swallows. Barely any of the sweet flavor kicks in, it cannot crawl through whatever died in my mouth overnight, but the hum should get me through a send-off with my parents. And hopefully the first couple minutes with damned Ilse. Dear Lord, may God give me strength.

"How did we get back home last night?" Ernst asks.

"Where were we last night? After our third or fourth round of cards, everything got a bit fuzzy."

"I believe you won that hand."

"I am not entirely certain I was playing that round. If we are being honest with each other, I think I had had a few drinks."

Ernst grins, "If we are truly being honest, it was much more than a couple. "

I groan, "I was not _that_ drunk, was I? Dear Lord, please, please say no, Ernst."

"Hansi darling, you attempted to take off your stockings over your shoes." At that, I groan again and scoop a handful of water from the basin, toss it onto my face, and slap myself gently a couple of times- a weak and lame attempt to hype myself for the day. There's a loud thunk from behind me as Ernst finishes his descent to the ground, flat on his back. I wrangle my waistcoat off with far more struggle than should be necessary, and drop it to the ground. From the floor, Ernst points to my stomach. "Look, you've a mark there."

For a moment, I allow myself to hope it was Ernst who left the smear of red under my navel. "Look at that," I laugh and scoop up some water again, scrubbing roughly in an attempt to calm it. 

"How is it you suppose that got there?" Ernst smirks, raising a brow.

"A gentleman may not reveal that information."

"Was it a gentleman? Perhaps that boy who almost beat you in a card game last night?"

"Swear to the Lord, Ernst, if I remembered, I would tell you." I take another swallow of sherry, right out of the bottle, and set it back down on the sideboard, nearly missing. It lands with a clang, and shocks me as I attempt to redress. "It's truly a burden, you know. Being as good-looking as I am. Everyone I meet falls in immediate and passionate love with me." I give him a wink and he laughs. "In fact, I can hardly blame them. I would likely fall in love with me were I to meet me." And then I shoot him my smile, equal parts mischievous and sweet, with dimples deep enough to pour tea into.

"As modest as you are handsome, I see." He arches his back- an exaggerated stretch, his head pressing into the rug and his fingers woven together. I feel the urge to go over and get him out of those clothes, but, alas, I do not. Ernst is showy about so few things, but he is truly an entire opera in the morning. "Are you prepared for today?"

"I suppose. Although, father has done most of the planning. Were everything not ready, we would not be leaving."

"And has Ilse stopped screaming about school yet?"

"I don't have a notion of where her mind may be, and today, I do not care a wit. I wish we didn't have to take her with us."

"Only to Marseilles!"

"After how long? That is correct! Two goddamned months in Paris." Above us, the new baby starts crying like the devil is possessing him- the floorboards aren't nearly enough to block the treacherous sound -followed by the sound of the maids heels clicking against the floor as she dashes to care for the little beast. We flick our eyes up towards the ceiling, and I groan. "The Goblin has awoken." Despite his screams being muted, they make my head pound.

"Try not to sound as happy about his living."

I've seen very little of my infant brother since he arrives four months prior, but I saw him long enough to marvel at how strange he looked, like an odd tomato that has been left out in the blazing sun. And, of course, to ponder the fact that he has a very large potential of ruining my entire goddamned life. I suck a drop of sherry from my thumb. "He is truly a menace, the devil's child. He shows up out of nowhere, cries all the while, and takes up so much goddamn space!"

"Ooh, the nerve."

"You're not being very sympathetic towards me. You're supposed to be on my side."

"You're not really giving me a reason to be." I throw a pillow at him and finish dressing. He's too sleepy to bat it away, so it hits him directly in the face. He attempts to throw it back at me, and I flop across the bed, my head hanging off and my face hanging above his. He raises his eyebrows. "That's quite a serious face, Hansi. Are you making plans to sell the Goblin off to a troupe of traveling entertainers in hope that they will raise him as one of them? It didn't work with Ilse, but it may this time. Perhaps the second time is the charm."

In truth, I cannot stop thinking about how this dirty-haired, off-his-guard, morning-after Ernst has become my absolute favorite Ernst. If we are to have this last romp together, I will fill it with as many mornings like this as I can. I will spend the next year ignoring anything to come after it- responsibilities and the such. I will get wildly drunk, fool around daily with pretty girls and boys with foreign accents, and then wake up next to Ernst. I reach down and press a finger to his lips, I think about winking as well. But that seems a bit excessive. However, subtlety is a waste of time. Fortune favors the flirtatious.

By now, if Ernst does not know how I feel, it's his fault for being so damn dense.

"I am thinking that today, we leave on our trip," I reply, slowly, "and we are not to waste a moment of it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu up on cesarioviola.tumblr.com !!!!!

With the amount of food laid upon the table, you could think that the royal families of England and France were to dine with us. On more than one occasion, Ernst has whispered to me that the amount of food my father constantly has made is him compensating for something. He can be quite a terror sometimes. 

The doors have been blown wide open, and the sunshine is batting down on us from across the veranda, the curtains flying in with the wind. The scrollwork carefully sewn into the curtains are glowing golden and warm in the sunlight.

Mother seems as if she has been awake the entire night, in a gorgeous dark blue dress, with her lovely dark hair pushed behind her in a neat chignon. I make an attempt to run my hand through my hair, trying to work it into a rumpled and beautiful _it looked like this as soon i had awoken_ style. Of course, I succeeded. Across the table from Mother sat Ernst's aunt and uncle, straight-faced and unspeaking, the way they have always looked. Truly, there's food enough for the entirety of Europe spread in front of the three of them, but Mother is hardly even prodding the single egg in a cup in front of her. Ever since the devil child wrecked havoc upon her body, she's been making a valiant and desperate effort to reclaim her original figure. I've told her many times that she's where I get my good looks from. Neither of Ernst's guardians is touching more than coffee. Ernst and I may not make much of an impact either- my stomach still feels as if something crawled in and died down there, and Ernst is extremely finicky about food. He stopped eating meat and eggs last year, as if some sort of an extended Lent. He claims it's for his health, but he is still sick in bed far more than I am. I wish I could be, but it is very hard to be sympathetic when I have told him that unless he gives me an actual explanation, I will believe his diet is absurd. 

As we enter, Ernst's aunt reaches out towards us, and Ernst takes her hand. They look similar, with their soft features- thin nosed and fine boned, that also make themselves known in portraits of Ernst's father. However, one of my favorite features of his is his thick, black hair that grows in coarse strands, defying just about any attempt to tame it (not that I'm complaining). Ernst has lived with his aunt and uncle since he was but one year old and his father returned from his exploration in the Philippines with nothing more than a fiddle and an infant son, and then promptly expired. Luckily for Ernst, his aunt and uncle took him in. Luckily for me as well, or I may have never met him, and then what would have been the point of my life?

My mother looks up as we enter and attempts to smooth the wrinkles around the corners of her eyes as if they were creases in her dress. "The gentleman have arisen, it seems."

"Good morning, Mother." 

Ernst gives her a little bow before he takes his seat, as if he is a proper guest. It is a ridiculous gesture from a lad I have known better than my siblings, and told more to than my entire family. And also a lad I like a fair amount more. 

However, the actual sibling present does not even lift her fixed eyes from her novel as we enter. Ilse has one of her amatory novels propped up against a crystal jam post, with some serving utensil wedged between the pages to keep it open. "That will ruin your brain," I say before dropping into the seat next to her.

Without even a millisecond of thought, she replies "Not as fast as gin will." I silently thank the lord that my Father has yet to arrive.

"Ilse," my mother hisses softly to her from across the table, "perhaps you should remove your spectacles at the breakfast table."

"I need them for reading, Mother," Ilse says, eyes still glued to her smut.

"You should not be reading at the table at all, especially when we have guests present!"

Ilse simply licks her finger and turns the page. Mother glares downwards at the cutlery and plates. I help myself to a piece of toast from the silver rack, and then to another, before settling in to await their volley. It is quite pleasant when Ilse is the one being nagged instead of me.

Mother glances across the table to where Ernst's aunt is plucking at a cigar burn on the braided cuff of his coat, then says to be in a confidential tone hardly above a whisper, "One of our maids found a pair of your breeches under the sofa this morning. I believe they may be the same ones you left at the house last night."

"That is... odd. Quite odd indeed." I thought I had lost those long before we arrived home. Suddenly, a memory of stripping off my clothes as Ernst and I staggered through the house in the wee hours of the waking dawn, scattering them behind us, intrudes into my mind. "Didn't happen to find another shoe as well, did she?"

"Would you like them to be packed?"

"I should have plenty, but thank you."

"I wish you would have looked through what was sent, at the very least."

"And for what purpose would that serve? I may send for anything important I have left behind, and we will be getting new duds as soon as we arrive in Paris."

"It simply makes me anxious to imagine us sending your fine and expensive things to an unknown French flat with an unknown and strange staff."

"Father has arranged the flat, and the staff as well. If you are skittish, you should take it up with him."

"I am skittish about you two alone on the Continent for a year."

"I understand, but you really should have raised that concern earlier than the day we are to leave." My mother purses her lips and returns to poking at her egg.

As if he were a demon summoned from hell, my father appears seemingly out of nowhere in the doorway. My pulse shoots up, and I try to tuck into my toast, as if the food may disguise me from his judgmental gaze. His golden hair is slicked back into a tidy queue, how mine may have a prayer of looking were it not constantly being rakes through my the fingers of gorgeous and interested parties. I know he has come for me, but he casts attention on my mother for long enough to simply kiss the top of her head, before turning quickly to my sister. "Ilse! Get those goddamned spectacles off of your face!"

"I need them for reading," she replies, not bothering to look up.

"Remove them at once, or I will snap them in half! Hanschen, I require a word." My name from my father's mouth jars me enough that I actually wince. We share that ghastly _Hanschen_ , and every time he speaks it, I can feel his grimace, as if he regrets the name being passed to me. I expected them to name the devil child Hanschen as well, in hopes of passing it onto someone who has a chance of proving worthy of it, 

"Why not come sit with us for a moment, darling?" Mother asks. Father has a hand on her shoulder, and she places one of hers on top, as if trying to drag him into the empty chair next to her. Sadly, he pulls away.

"I need a private moment to speak with Hanschen." Father nods at Ernst's aunt and uncle without a glance. I've learned that proper greetings from him are not for who he deems lower members of the peerage.

"The boys are leaving today."

"I'm aware, why else would I wish to speak with him?" He shoots me a frown as I stand and toss my napkin to the table to follow him. As I pass Ernst, he gives me a sympathetic smile. The faint freckles splattered below his eyes twist upward as if they were stars. I give him an affectionate ruffle of the hair as I pass. I follow my father into his sitting room. As always, the windows are thrown open, lacy drapes casting broken shadows upon the floor, and the sickly perfumes of spring blossoms on the vine are blowing in. Father sits at his desk, shuffling through the papers on his desk. For hardly a moment, I think he may return to his work and leave me staring like an imbecile. I take a risk, reaching for the brandy on the desk. "Hanschen." I stop.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you remember Georg Zirschnitz?" I look up and realize there's a scholarly fellow who cannot be much older than I am standing beside the fire. He looks as if he may be barely thirteen, but he is quite tall. I immediately dislike him. 

He gives me a short bow, spectacles not unlike my sisters slipping down his nose. "My lord, I am quite sure we will become better acquainted in the coming few months as we travel." I would like nothing more than to throw up on his shows, but I refrain myself. I had not wanted supervision, at all. But the presence of a watchful eye of their selection had been one of the requirements for the tour. And I had very little chips to wager, so I had agreed. Unwillingly. 

Father places the papers he had been organizing into a leather skin and extends it to Zirschnitz. "Passports, bills of health, preliminary documents, letters of credits, introductions to my acquaintances in Paris." Zirschnitz tucks the papers into his coat. Father twists around to face me, an elbow resting on his desk. "Goddamnit Hanschen, sit up straight. You're small enough as is."

With much more effort than needed, I sit straight and meet his gaze. He frowns, and I feel the urge to sink back down. 

"What is it you think I wish to speak about?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Then take a guess." I look down, which proves a mistake. "Look at me when I speak to you!"

I raise my eyes, gaze fixed on a spot over his head. "Did you wish to converse about my tour?" He rolls his eyes, and I feel as if I am an idiot. My temper flares. Why did he ask such a question if he were to mock me when I answered? I can feel the lecture coming.

"I want us to be certain on the conditions of this tour. I still believe your mother and I are foolish to indulge you any more than we have after your expulsion from Eton. However, against all better judgement, I'm giving you this one year to get yourself together. Indicate you understand me."

"Yes, sir."

"Zirschnitz and I have discussed what we believe is the best course of action for your time abroad." Up until this moment, I had believed we all understood that this year was simply for Ernst and I to do as we decided, with a watchful eye to provide lodging and food, clean up messes, and turn a blind eye towards youthful ruckus. 

Zirschnitz clears his throat, stepping into the light, then back again at once, blinking the sun from his eyes. "Your father and I have discussed your, ah, behaviors, and decided you will have some restraints placed upon your activities." I look between him and my father, as if one of them will admit to this being a joke. Restraints certainly were not part of the understanding I had agreed to. "Under my watch, there will be no gambling, limited tobacco, and no cigars," this will not end well for me, "No visitations to the theatre, or sordid establishments of any kind. No inappropriate relations of anyone of the opposite sex."

He technically did not say I could not have inappropriate relations with members of my own sex.

"No slothfulness or late mornings, and spirits in moderation _only_ ,"

Dear Lord, there will be a surrogate of my father on the trip!

"When you and I see each other next," my father starts, "I expect you to be sober, stable, and discreet, at the very least. Your cries of attention will cease, and you will begin working at my side for management of the estate." 

I'd rather die, to be honest.

"You will not embarrass me. You will start in Paris, then to Marseilles, where Ilse will join school, winter in Italy, then Geneva and Berlin. On your return, you will pick up your sister and return home, and from then Herr Robel will make his own way to Holland for school."

The whole room is incredibly hot, and it makes me feel as if this sour send-off has been planned. Or perhaps I am just panicked over the fact that after this, Ernst is going to fucking law school in Holland! But then Father gives me a cold look, and I respond with a "yes, sir."

Zirschnitz seems to sense that he is no longer needed here, and starts towards the door, pausing to give me a short clap on the shoulder that feels so firm that I jump. I was expecting a less friendly swing to come from somewhere else in the room. "We will have a lovely time! We will hear poetry and symphonies, and see the finest treasures and indulge in the best cultures the world could offer." Fortune has truly vomited down on me in the form of this man.

As he leaves, Father sits up straight. "This is your last chance, Hanschen. Should you not return mature, you should not return at all. There will be no place left for you in this family. You will be out." Right on cue, the threat of disinheritance hits me in the gut. Until a few months ago with the birth of the goblin, it was an empty threat, as there would be no one else to pass the estate onto that would keep it in the family. "Leave now." I nod and rush out.

-

Out of the doors, the sun is still feeling like an attack on me. A storm seems to be brewing on the horizon. The gravel crunches as the horses begin to paw, desperate to get going. Ernst is already at the carriage, his back towards me, which gives me an opportunity to stare at his ass. It's not particularly noteworthy, but still, it's his ass, so it's worth of note to me. He's directing the porters loading the last of the luggage, holding the fiddle case close to his chest. I come up behind him, snaking an arm around him. "Christ, darling, tell me we are off soon. My father has practically just killed me." Percy laughs and gestures to my mother and Ilse, and I move to say goodbye.

As usual, Ilse is looking like a spinster. The specs are tucked down her front, and while Mother may not noticed, I can see the imprint of the chain through the fabric. The finishing school has been a long time coming for her, but Ilse is so scowly about it that you may think that she hadn't been begging for years upon years to go to school. "Ilse, hug me goodbye." Mother opens her arms, but Ilse refuses and stalks towards the carriage. Mother sighs and turns towards me. "You will write, correct?"

"Of course."

"Do not drink too much."

"Absolute value on too much?"

"Hanschen," she sighs, shaking her head. "Please, try to behave and be a gentleman." She kisses my cheek and pats my arm, turning back and climbing the steps to the estate as I turn the opposite way. 

As I swing myself into the carriage, the footman shuts the door, barely missing closing it on my foot. Ernst has his fiddle case balanced on his lap, and he's playing with the latches. Ilse is pressed into the corner, reading already. I pull my pipe from my coat and begin to light it, before Ilse clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Nice to have you along, dear sister. When can I drop you on the side of the road?"

"Keen to make room for your harem of boys?" Ilse quips, tucking right back into her novel as Ernst appears to hold back a laugh. Zirschnitz clambers in, knocking his head on the frame as he sits. The carriage lurches suddenly forward as he sits, and Ernst nearly gets sent out of his seat, but catches himself on my lap. Just like that, we are off.


	3. Chapter 3

The tragic love story of Ernst and I is not truly a love story. It is tragic purely for its single-sidedness. And, unlike many tragic love stories, this has not plagued me since birth. Rather, it's just the tale of how two people are so important to each other for their entire lives, and then, one day, without meaning to, one wakes to find this importance magnified with a sudden, intense urge to put his tongue in the others mouth.

A slow slide, yet a sudden impact.

Although, the friendship between Ernst and me is forever. Ever since I can recall, Ernst has been there. We have ridden horses, hunted, talked and reveled together since we could hardly think, fought and then made up, wrecked a path across the countryside. Hell, most of our "firsts" were shared. First lost tooth, first broken bone, first school time, first crush on a girl (though Ernst is not vocal and passionate in this area, I more than make up for it). First time drunk too, during a reading at the Easter service where we had gotten drunk on nicked wine before. We were just sober enough to hope we were at least slightly subtle, but tipsy enough that we were as subtle as a 100-piece orchestra.

Even the first kiss I ever had - disappointingly not with Ernst though - involved him in an odd way. I'd kissed Bobby Maler at my father's Christmas party during my thirteenth year, and, for a first kiss, I thought it was quite good. But he got cold feet and blabbed to his parents and anyone with ears that I was a peverted and forced myself onto him, which was wildly untrue. I would never do anything like that. But, I would like it to be noted that every time since, when Bobby Maler and I have had a shag, he has always initiated it. I simply go along with it. Anyway, my father forced me into apologizing to the Maler family, while giving them the "lots of boys mess around at that age" speech, which he has gotten a lot of use out of over the years. Then, once we'd returned home, he'd beaten me until my vision went spotty. 

So, for weeks, I had walked around wearing a disgusting bruise and mottled shame, everyone eyeing me sideways and making crude remarks I could hear, and I began to feel certain I had turned all my friends against me for attraction I simply could not control. But, the next time the boys played billiards, Ernst bashed Bobby in the side of the face with his cue hard enough to knock out a tooth. Ernst apologized with that faux innocence, acting as if it were a mistake, but it was thinly veiled vengeance. When everyone else cast me away, Ernst had fought back against them.

The truth is, I have cared for Ernst long before I fell so hard for him that all of Europe could hear the crash. It's only been lately that his knee bumping mine under the table leaves me stuttering and trying for words. Just a small shift in the gravity, and all the stars are out of alignment, planets are torn from orbit, and and I'm left stumbling and stammering, trying to navigate blindly through the horrifying territory of being in love with your best friend. 

If the whole of Europe were sinking, and there were room for one more upon the boat, I would save Ernst. Had he already drowned, I wouldn't save anyone. Probably wouldn't be much hope in me going forward, either. I think I would hold on though, as it'd be likely I'd wash up in France. From what I remember from the summer of my eleventh year, there are some very lovely women in France. Handsome boys as well, who wear their breeches quite tightly.

As we sail across the Channel, this is what I'm thinking of- Ernst and I together as England sinks into the sea behind us. Also French lads and their tight breeches, lord, I cannot wait for Paris! I am also maybe a tiny bit drunk. I snagged a bottle of a gin from a bar before we left the docks, and Ernst and I have been passing it between the two of us since our departure. There are only a few swallows left. 

I haven't caught more than a glimpse of Ilse since we've left, nor much of Zirschnitz either. He'd spent most of the time at the docks as we waited for a storm to pass fussing over luggage and correspondence. Once the boat left the harbor, our annoying shadow became occupied with being sick over the rail, and we became occupied with avoiding him. The two activities were really perfectly compatible, and I couldn't be happier!

Past the prow of the packet, the water and sky are the same shade of ghostly grey, but through the fog, I believe I can make out the first signs of a hazy port. A link of golden lights upon the horizon of the invisible coastline like a chain. The waves are rough, and, with our elbows upon the rail, Ernst and I keep bumping into each other. When we strike a rough patch, he loses his footing, and I seize the chance to take him by the hand and haul him upright with a wink. I have become very well versed in innocent ways to get Ernst's skin against mine.

It's the first time we've been even partially alone together since our departure from the manor, and I have spent all of it filling him in on the tyrannical and oppressive restraints that have been placed on us by Zirschnitz and my father. Ernst listens with his hands folded upon one another on the railing, and his chin resting on them. Once I'm finished, he wordlessly passes me the gin bottle. I snatch it with the plan to drain it, but he'd beat me to it. "Bastard!" I exclaim and he laughs, and I pitch the bottle into the grey seas, watching it bob up and down until it is sucked under. "How is it that we have managed to get the only watchful eye for hire who is entirely opposed to the true purpose of a Grand Tour?"

"Remind me of what it is?"

"Strong spirits and loose women."

"Oh, poor Hansi, it's going to be weak wine and handling yourself in your room later I suppose."

"No shame in that, had God not wanted men to play with themselves, we would likely have hooks for hands. Still, I'd much rather not be keeping myself company from now until next October. God, this is going to be a complete and utter disaster!" I look towards him, hoping for a bit of despair on a comparable level to mine. See, I thought we were all operating on the understanding that this year was for Ernst and I to do as I wished before he went to school and I loaded stones in my pockets and threw myself out to sea. Instead, he looks nearly pleased. "Hold on, do not tell me you are keen on this cultural and intellectual shit!"

"I'm not . . . _not_ keen." Then, he gives me a gentle smile I suppose is his attempt at apologetic, but, instead, it looks very, very, very keen.

"No, no, no! You have to be on my side for all of this. Zirschnitz is tyranny and oppression and all that! Isn't that what lawyers fight against? Don't be seduced by his promises of poetry and symphonies and- dear lord, will I be subjected to music for the entirety of our Tour?"

"Oh, absolutely you will!" He turns, a playful grin on his face, "And the only thing you will hate more than listening to Zirschnitz's selections of music will be listening to me talk about the said music. Maybe, I will talk to Zirschnitz about music, and you will hate it. You're going to have to listen to me and Zirschnitz using words like _atonal_ and _chromatic scale_ and _cadenza_."

"Et tu?"

"Aw, look at you using your Latin vocabulary. Eton wasn't a waste after all!"

"That was Latin and history, thank you very much. I'll have you know I am highly educated." I turn to face him- or, rather, I turn my face up to his. Ernst is taller than most, and I'm cursed with downwards height, so though I swear there once was a time I beat him in height, it's ancient history now. He's got quite an aerial advantage over me. Most men do, actually, and some ladies as well. Ilse's nearly as tall as I am, and it's mortifying.

Ernst tucks a piece of my collar that had been blown asunder back into place, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my neck for just a second. "What did you think this year was going to be? Gambling halls and brothels the entire time? You will one day get tired of that, darling. Intercourse with strangers in piss-rank alleys must lose its bittersweet charm eventually."

"I suppose I thought it would be you and me."

"Having intercourse in alleyways?"

"No, you imbecile. Just- the two of us. Doing what we wanted." Perfecting my phrasing without betraying my true feelings is beginning to feel like a war I'm losing. "Together."

"Still, it will be."

"Yes, but, this is the last year before you go to Holland for law school and I start working with my father, and we will not see each other except for the occasional weekend together."

"Law school..." Ernst voice gets distant as he turns to the sea again, a breeze lifted a few strands free from the ribbon tying off his gorgeous hair. He's been talking about getting it cut short to fit it under a wig, but I have made it clear I'll murder him if he does. I quite adore it. 

I press my face into his shoulder to make him pay attention to me once more and give a theatrical moan. "But bloody Zirschnitz and his bloody cultural outing have ruined all of that."

Ernst twists a lock of my hair between his fingers, a soft smile teasing his lips. My heart kicks up, so hard I have to catch my breath. It is truly unfair that I cant tell when anyone is making eyes at me, except for Ernst, since we've always been so hands-on with each other. Impossible now, that after so long, to ask him to stop without admitting the truth. Can't seal up a conversation with a casual _Oh, and by the way, can you perhaps not touch me in the way you always have because each time it puts fresh splinters in my heart?_ Especially when what I'd truly like to say is _Oh, by the way, can you please keep touching me, and perhaps do it all the time, and while we're at it, let's take off our clothes and climb in bed together?_

He gives a tug on my hair, and I feel myself go a bit pale. "I know how we will survive the year. We will pretend to be pirates-"

"Oh, I love this."

"-storming some sort off city fortress. Sacking it for gold, just like we used to."

"Remind me of your pirate name?"

"Captain Two Tooth the Terrible."

"Ah, threatening."

"I was six, bastard, I only had two teeth at the time. And it's Captain. Captain Two Tooth the Terrible!"

"Pardon me, Captain."

"So disrespectful, you should be locked up."

As the ship skips forward with its nose to France, we talk, then we don't, and then we do again. I am reminded how easy it is to maintain friendship with Ernst is, equal parts sweet silence and a plethora of things to speak about. Or, rather, it was easy, until I ruined it by losing my mind every time he does that little fucking thing where he tips his head to the side as he smiles.

We are still holding court at the prow when the sailors begin to scamper about the deck, and a bell peals, a low, somber note. Passengers emerge and cluster at the railings, moths drawn to the lantern light of the coastline.

Ernst rests his chin on my head, his hands on my shoulders as we too turn our faces to the shore. "Did you know-"

"Oh, we're playing the did you know game?"

"That this year will not be a total disaster?" He goes quiet. "It will not be a total disaster," he repeats overtop of me, "because it is you and I and the continent and not even Zirschnitz or your father can wreck it completely. I promise." He nudges the side of my head with his nose until I look up at him, then does that damned tilted head smile, and it's so adorable I may forget my own name. 

"France on the horizon, Captain," I say.

"All hands on deck," he replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i know its been forever im so sorry im bad at schedules and everything i am so sorry


End file.
